


Once Bitten

by Tsukiwolf42



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anxiety, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Monster of the Week, Pining Jaskier | Dandelion, mentioned Lambert/Aiden - Freeform, midwinter minibang, wounds not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29084463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsukiwolf42/pseuds/Tsukiwolf42
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple bath. And who would blame Jaskier? The Path was pungent and rough, but Oxenfurt? Oxenfurt was a place of beauty, especially during the winter festival. How could he know that his bath would mean treacherous waters for him and his Witcher?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 63





	Once Bitten

**Author's Note:**

> This is my story written for the Geraskier Midwinter Reserve Minibang. I’ve been very excited to share it with you guys for a while.  
> This story would have never happened without 13Bella’s incredible art to inspire me. I’ll post a link at the bottom to the art.  
> Of course, I have to thank Mephistos for betaing this and being my sounding board for all my crazy ideas. I’ll buy you a lemon later.  
> And thanks to everyone from the event it was fun.

“Thanks for taking me to Oxenfurt this year Geralt,” Jaskier smiled up at the witcher on his always faithful mare, though he had to admit to wondering the reason for Geralt heading this far south with him. . . they usually split up long before this. “You're sure you’ll still be able to make it to the secret witcher hideout after this?”

“I’ll be fine.” 

“As your very best friend in the world,” Jaskier ignored the following huff, continuing, “I am allowed to worry about you. You know you're always welcome at my humble abode if you think you might not be able to make it up the mountain.”

“Hmm.”

Damn, that might have been coming on a little too strong, but Jaskier could picture it in his mind — having Geralt all to himself for the season. No contracts, no violet-eyed sorceresses, just the two of them and the close quarters of his professor’s loft. They would spend lazy mornings watching the snow, eat warm meals in front of the fireplace, and he would show Geralt all his favorite places around the city. . .it would be heaven. 

“What are you smiling about, Bard?” Geralt asked, breaking the silence. 

Jaskier would never willingly admit to the squeak he made as he was pulled from his fantasy by the question. “Oh. . .just thinking about what kind of song I’ll perform at the midwinter festival this year. It needs to be amazing to wow Oxenfurt, the critical lot that they are. I just might have to write something new for it. Everyone will have already heard all of last year’s songs about the heroic exploits of the White Wolf”, he paused before adding matter-of-factly, “and to show up with an old song is paramount to social suicide.”

“Forget I asked,” growled the Witcher. A sound that Jaskier, secretly, loved to hear whether it was aimed at him or not, and that had led to some unfortunate situations in the past. 

“Have I ever told you about Oxenfurt’s winter festivals?” Jaskier asked, ignoring the gruff response from his companion, as usual. “They are wonderful! Hot roasted meats with the most exquisite spices available on every corner with holly wreaths and mistletoe hanging in every archway. Wine flows like water poured generously into your cup by women in festive dresses, and oh, the outfits! Blues and greens as far as the eye can see, and reds and whites decorating collars and sleeves. It truly is a magical time of year.” 

Apparently, Geralt didn’t have a response to the wonderment that was an Oxenfurt festival as the two of them lapsed into silence, or as silent as it got with Jaskier around. 

“Do you and the other witchers do anything special for midwinter?” Jaskier asked suddenly, pausing his lute strumming. 

“No.” 

“What!” Jaskier hollered, turning to look up at the witcher. “Not even a nice meal?” he whimpered, shoulders falling. 

“We have a nice meal when everyone shows up. The rest of the winter is spent training and repairing the keep.” Geralt answered, surprising Jaskier. He was never this verbose about the secret habits of witchers in the winter. 

“Oh. . .Well, that's nice — all of you getting to sit down to a meal to celebrate being back together” Jaskier responded, hoping to push his luck and get Geralt to tell him a little more. 

“Hmm. . .it’s tradition. A way to welcome those of us that survived another year on the path home.” Geralt said. “By midwinter, we are all trapped inside by the snow. We have ways to occupy ourselves at that point so we don’t annoy each other.” 

“Huh,” Jaskier mused thoughtfully. He had so much to think about now. Those gruff couple of sentences were a whole new insight into the secret habits of winter wolves. “What kind of things? Are you secretly up there knitting each other sweaters?”

“I don’t knit anymore,” Geralt deadpanned. “I spin yarn.” 

“What? Geralt, really!?” Jaskier yelled, waving his arms. 

“I hear water, come on,” Geralt responded, turning Roach off the road to a barely existent path. 

“Geralt! I’m not letting you just leave it there!” Jaskier hollered, chasing after the silver-haired man as he headed deeper into the forest. “Geralt, come on you can tell me!”

Jaskier rushed to catch up to Roach as she moved gracefully between the roots and branches, but they always seemed one step ahead. “Oh shit!” Jaskier exclaimed, bracing himself for a fall. His foot had caught on a root while trying to avoid becoming acquainted with Roach’s rear as she and the Witcher stopped suddenly in front of him. The fall never came though, as something reached out lighting fast and snagged the back of his doublet. 

“Be more careful Jaskier” Geralt rumbled from above him, holding onto him to help steady him on his feet. 

“Of course, silly me,” Jaskier stammered, blushing a deep crimson to his ears and turning away. . . hopefully before Geralt noticed. “Always so clumsy.”

Jaskier didn’t get a response from his sword-wielding companion, not that he had expected one. Instead, he turned to look at the clearing the Witcher had led them to. 

It was beautiful. A crystal lake with water so blue it rivaled a summer sky, the waterfall to one side pouring powerfully over the rocks and throwing tiny rainbows into the air. Thick conifer trees lined the far bank, standing like guardians of the little sanctuary in their green and brown armor. Their heavy branches rustled in the breeze, making the whole glen smell of a festive winter wonderland. The area was peaceful, with the only noise the roaring rush of water as it finished its journey to the lake. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier called, turning back to him and reluctantly away from the natural majesty before him. “Any chance we are finding an inn tonight?” 

“No.” 

“Any chance of finding one before we get to Oxenfurt?” Jaskier asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer; the witcher was not particularly fond of cities or the busier roads that led to them. 

“No. We will stay on the back roads. It’s faster.” Came the gruff and very expected answer. 

“Right. Well, then I am having a bath” Jaskier stated, starting on the buttons of his doublet. 

“The water will be bitingly cold, bard.”

“I _can not_ arrive in the city of bards and scholars covered in road dusk and stinking of horse” Jaskier educated Geralt, stripping down and hanging his clothes over a nearby branch. Honestly, the poor man would go to a royal court covered in drowner guts if Jaskier wasn’t there to help him, and the way he tended to his hair before Jaskier showed up. . . It was truly a horror. But now, with some tough love, those moonlight tresses shone with a glory befitting the man whose head they graced. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Geralt answered with a roll of his eyes as he finished untacking Roach. 

“Yes, yes, I will heed your warning oh _mighty_ and _knowledgeable_ witcher,” Jaskier snarked back making his way down to the water. 

“Melitele’s sweet tits that’s fucking cold!” Jaskier exclaimed so loudly he startled several birds from their roosts. Wrapping his arms around himself tightly he grit his teeth, waiting for the pain of the frigid water to pass. He wasn’t getting out now. He had committed to this bath and would not suffer through Geralt’s “I told you so” look more than he had to.

“Alright, there bard?” Geralt asked with a low chuckle — it was always so good to see him laugh and smile. It was so rare that Jaskier almost forgave him for laughing at his expense. Almost.

“Toss me my soap, and go get some firewood you brute,” Jaskier hollered.

“As you wish,” the Witcher answered, tossing the aforementioned soap right in front of Jaskier so that it would hit the water and splash him, before heading into the woods with Jaskier’s squeal echoing behind him. 

“Stupid Witcher,” Jaskier grumbled to himself as he reached into the water blindly to find his poor, abused soap. “Doesn’t he know how expensive this was?” He spent the next several minutes grumpily scrubbing himself and staring down the quickly moving waterfall. He knew that dunking himself under it would be the quickest way to get all the soap off and rinse his hair. . .but it would also be absurdly, outrageously cold. 

He would just have to be quick about it, one quick second under to wash it all off. He could do this Jaskier thought to himself as he headed cautiously towards the waterfall; he had faced so much worse than a little cold water. Taking a deep, steadying breath Jaskier moved under the raging water. He hoped Geralt wouldn’t mention hearing some kind of loud screech later on. Jaskier was just reaching up to scrub the soap out of his hair — and regretting his decision to use the waterfall — when something grabbed him from behind; something warm and firm and unbudging, no matter how hard he wiggled and fought against it. “Don’t panic!” Jaskier thought, trying to remember what Geralt had told him about how to escape when something grabbed you.

It took Jaskier longer than he should have been proud of to realize the things wrapped around his mouth and waist were arms, and that the warm structure behind him was a torso. . . not that this was more comforting than if it were a monster. Jaskier contemplated the merits of biting down on the hand in front of him and screaming. Would he be fast enough to get away naked and cold? Hopefully, Geralt was close enough to hear his struggle.

“Stop squirming you fool!” growled a familiar voice, and Jaskier did, going rigid with tension. It couldn’t be good if Geralt had jumped into the water after him. Looking down he saw that the man was indeed still fully dressed, so this was not one of his fantasies come true. 

“G’rl?” Jaskier tried to ask Geralt, who was still holding his very naked body. Try as he might, the fear was just not outweighing his unfortunate reaction to the sensation of Geralt’s musculature against his own. 

“Quiet,” Geralt whispered into Jaksier’s ear. Jaskier was sure he was cursed. “When I let you go you need to run. Don’t look back, just run. Understood?” 

Jaskier nodded slightly. This time, he really would listen — he did not want to be anywhere near one of the monsters Geralt fought without even a scrap of clothing to protect him. 

For a minute longer Geralt held Jaskier, one hand pressed over his mouth before he started to slowly turn away, looking out over the rocks hiding them from view. His breathing was quiet; he was focusing on the fight to come. 

“Run, Jaskier,” he whispered urgently. The arm dropped and Jaskier darted off, splashing through the waterfall toward the bank where he could see Roach, heart racing in his chest. He never thought he would find himself in a situation like this, running naked through a frigidly cold lake as Geralt fought an unknown monster behind him. Expect the unexpected when you love a Witcher. 

“Shit” Jaskier exclaimed as he scrambled on hands and knees up the bank towards his clothing, which hung on a low branch. He didn’t spare a thought for the mud and muck that clung to his skin, and would most definitely ruin his clothing. 

Behind him he could hear splashes and Geralt’s grunts of frustration. He wanted to turn and look to see what kind of monster he was almost dinner for, but he needed to get dressed first. The risk of injuring some very delicate and well-loved parts was just a little too high for comfort right now. 

After what felt like the world’s longest stumble, he was able to reach his clothing and stuff himself into his smalls and trousers, forgoing boots and chemise in favor of turning back to Geralt and the surprise monster. 

And a surprise it was! Jaskier had seen a fair amount of strange creatures in his time following his witcher around, and there seemed to be no end to their variety. This time Geralt was slashing his dagger at a gargantuan snake, its broad, flat head hissing and spitting at him. It was by no means the strangest creature Jaskier had seen the Witcher pitted against, in fact, it seemed to be one of the more mundane ones. It looked no different than most of the snakes Jaskier had seen in woods and forests, save for its size. It must have been as long as Geralt was tall and as wide as one of the witcher’s powerful thighs. 

The snake lunged with glistening fangs at Geralt, who managed to swipe at it with his dagger and slash through part of its scaled belly. “Where were his swords?” Jaskier thought, “This would have been over in a second if he’d had his sword.” He reached behind him to snag his chemise and noticed that the twin blades had been tucked under his clothing against the tree. 

Jaskier couldn’t understand why Geralt wouldn’t have grabbed his swords. He had seen him fight creatures in the water before, so it wasn’t that he didn’t want to get them wet. He turned back to the fight in time to see Geralt slice the head off of the snake, its body twitching like some kind of grotesque vine rising from the water when suddenly, the lower part of the snake erupted from the water and latched a second, flat head onto Geralt’s thigh. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier screamed. The witcher reached down and pulled the snake creature and what looked like a chunk of his thigh off, snapping its tail-neck in the same moment. It seemed for all of a second that this event was going to end there, with one wound Jaskier would fuss over and that Geralt would tell him was nothing, but as the white-haired man turned to head to the shore he suddenly stumbled as his leg seemed unwilling to hold him up and he disappeared under the water. 

“Oh shit!” Jaskier cried out, racing to the shore. He hoped desperately to see Geralt pop up and start cursing about monsters or even about stupid bards, anything other than the distant crash of the waterfall. 

The silence weighed on him until he could take it no more, and he dove into the frigid water headfirst. He managed to find Geralt right away, caught in a mess of stones, and dragged his heavy body to the surface. “Breathe you brute!” Jaskier begged as he lugged the larger man onto the shore. He looked meaningfully down at him, “Please breathe, Geralt.”

He wondered if he should try to listen for the Witcher’s heart, when Geralt took a gasping breath and started to cough. 

“Melitele have mercy!” Jaskier cried, leaning down to rest his forehead against Geralt’s chest. “You can’t do that to me! Let's get out of the mud Geralt.” Jaskier raised his head to look at the Witcher when he didn’t respond — Geralt’s lips were starting to turn blue. 

“Oh shit! Fire! we need fire and, and, um… we need to get you out of those wet clothes,” Jaskier planned, trying not to let the panic claim him. 

He rushed to get to his feet and get his arms under Geralt’s to pull him towards Roach, who was grazing calmly next to the pile of sticks the Witcher must have collected like Jaskier asked him to. No, he couldn’t think about anything more than making sure that Geralt was okay. He needed to focus and pull the brute to a place where he could start a fire and get him out of his clothing and. . .”Why is he so heavy?”

Realizing Geralt would be too heavy for him to pull with his clothing soggy and weighed down with mud, Jaskier ran to their bags and grabbed Geralt’s bedroll. “Okay my dear, you are going to have to work with me here” Jaskier paused before adding, “And forgive me for this.” 

Jaskier quickly laid the bedroll out next to Geralt and reached for his mud-soaked boots, unlacing them and tossing them aside. He moved the witcher onto the bedroll, alternately wincing and apologizing at the roar Geralt let out when Jaskier moved his injured leg. “I should be thankful you didn’t have your armor on,” Jaskier half-heartedly joked as he dragged the boulder of a man closer to Roach, who looked up briefly before going back to the grass in front of her. . . unhelpful. 

“Alright, fire first then - then I can look at that bite on your leg,” Jaskier spoke out loud. He wasn’t sure if Geralt could hear him but talking was helping keep him calm, so he would just have to deal with it. “I guess I should thank you for saving me. . .again. If not for you, my brave witcher, I would be. . . well, I'm not really sure _what_ that thing was, so when you wake up you’ll have to tell me so I can turn this into a truly epic ballad of your heroics. The witcher rescuing the hapless bard once again from his foolishness and vanity.” 

With a half-decent fire started and both of them slowly starting to warm up, Jaskier knew it was time to look at Geralt’s leg; but he just couldn’t find the energy. Everything had happened so fast, and he just wanted to lay down next to his white wolf and sleep. The idea was tempting, to close his eyes and rest. 

“No!” Jaskier proclaimed, smacking his face with both hands. “Wake up, Geralt needs you!” Rolling to a kneeling position he reached out to smooth down Geralt’s pants to take a look at what damage the double-headed snake had done. Except. . . he couldn’t see anything; the hole in his pants just wasn’t big enough to provide a good view of any of the damage, and just because it wasn’t bleeding didn’t mean it shouldn’t still be cleaned and wrapped. 

“Alright Geralt, I know you only have two pairs of pants so I am not going to rip these, but I am going to have to take them off of you” Jaskier explained as he reached for the buttons on Geralt’s pants. The cold was obviously to blame for the bright red shade his face had taken. 

As he lifted Geralt's injured leg to peel his ridiculously tight pants off, Geralt grunted in pain. It was a grunt Jaskier was happy to hear, then again, he would have been happy to hear Geralt curse him for his stupidity right now. He was less happy to see the bite, though. It wasn’t too deep or bleeding thanks to witcher healing, but the skin around the bite mark was bright red and far too warm to be healthy. 

“Geralt, was that demon two-headed snake poisonous?” Jaskier asked in a whisper, scrambling up to grab the potion bag and medical supplies Geralt kept in one of the saddlebags. “You need the gold one right? That ones for poisons. Why do you not have any of the gold ones, Geralt? This is why you need to tell me things! How am I supposed to help you when I don’t know which one of these colored liquids will help, and which might kill you” Jaskier rambled, sifting through the countless small glass-bottles in the bag, panic slowly creeping into his mind and making his hands shake. “Okay, okay,” He breathed, “so no gold for poisons. . . but red for healing right? I’ve seen you use that before. . .I think.” He spied the small vial of red liquid, and took it in hand. Grabbing the Witcher’s stubbled jaw, he was able to pry his mouth open enough to pour the thick liquid in and rub his throat to get him to swallow it all down before moving on to the leg. He managed to rinse the wound out with water from one of the skins and wrap it with bandages he found. “Not a half-bad job if I do say so myself,” Jaskier thought. 

Jaskier knew that he needed to get Geralt to a healer, but the sun was already starting to set and they were still a day's ride from Oxenfurt, at minimum. They would have to stay here tonight and figure out how to get Geralt to a healer in the morning. “Who knows? Geralt might be fine by then, humming and grunting as he always does and everything can go back to normal” Jaskier hoped as he laid out his bedroll next to Geralt’s, his stress bleeding into bone-deep exhaustion. “Maybe everything will be fine.”

\----------

Jaskier cracked his eyes open, unsure of what had woken him; it was far too early to be awake after yesterday’s catastrophe. He wouldn’t be able to sleep again though, now that his mind had so kindly reminded him of that awful snake, replaying the moment it latched onto Geralt. “What a lovely thing to wake up to, thanks” he muttered aloud.

Jaskier slowly pulled his head up from its nest in the vee of Geralt’s armpit, a spot that was surprisingly comfortable but Jaskier was unsure how he managed to wiggle into, to look down at him. Thankfully, the night of cuddling had helped warm him up and the blue tint had left his lips, but he still wasn’t awake. Usually, he was up long before Jaskier, even on the nights Jaskier _accidentally_ rolled over and cuddled up to him. 

“Should I try to wake him?” Jaskier asked himself. Having no one to talk to was just not going to work — he needed someone to bounce his endless ideas off of, even if he only got grunts and hums in return. 

“What do _you_ think Roach?” Jaskier asked as he approached the mare and dug through the bags. From her unimpressed stare, she seemed to believe that Jaskier was an idiot. “Wow” Jaskier thought, “Did she learn that look from Geralt or the other way around?”

“Alright, alright I get it. We will wake him and then get a move on and get you to a nice warm stable” Jaskier said as he headed back to the still sleeping witcher. Placing a waterskin next to him, Jaskier stood with his feet planted on either side of Geralt’s hips and leaned down to grab his arms. “Don’t punch me,” Jaskier whispered before he started to pull. “Come on big guy, time to get up. Come on. . . Geralt. . . time to wake up” he grunted breathlessly. 

“Mmrrr.” Geralt answered as Jaskier lifted him against a log.

“Here Geralt drink this, it should help,” Jaskier held the waterskin up to his lips. . . so he wasn’t going to wake up fully; that couldn’t be a good sign. Jaskier would have to figure out a way to get them both on Roach and push the poor girl to get them to Oxenfurt as fast as she could. He would make sure she had the best stable he could afford — the poor girl was going to deserve it. 

“Lambert” The quiet noise spooked Jaskier as he was checking Geralt’s leg. It was still far too warm and red for Jaskier to be comfortable with. 

“No Geralt,” Jaskier answered, as he tried to painlessly get Geralt back into his pants, a problem he never expected to have to worry about, “It’s me, Jaskier. Your bard.” 

“Lambert” Geralt said again; Jaskier wasn’t sure who this Lambert was. Was it someone Geralt thought could help him? Regardless, at least he was talking. The sound of it was both soothing and worrying as Jaskier went about trying to pack up what little they had gotten out the night before and finding Geralt’s errant boots.

“We know about the cat,” Geralt mumbled, head rolling forward. 

“. . .Huh?” so not someone that could help them, “thanks Geralt,” Jaskier thought resignedly.

“Lambert,” Geralt said again. Jaskier was seriously going to have to ask him who the hell Lambert was and why his cat was so important. Geralt continued, “You bring that cat next winter or I'll go find him.” 

“What kind of cat is it Geralt?” Maybe it was wrong to try to get Geralt to tell him things he wouldn’t normally share, but who knew if this was even true. “Is it fluffy?”

“If you bring the cat, I’ll bring the bird.” Geralt answered; Jaskier had more questions than he started with. “Geralt doesn’t own a bird, does he?” Jaskier thought quizzically. He felt like he would have noticed if Geralt had a pet bird. 

“Geralt, you are going to owe me so many stories after this,” Jaskier said he led Roach closer to the sitting Witcher. “And no, you are not getting out of it this time. I don’t care how much you grumble” 

“Now for the hard part”, Jaskier thought, “how do I get him onto the horse?” He had some of the rope Geralt always kept in one of the bags, but it wasn’t like he would have the strength to lift the witcher over the saddle with just rope. 

Turning to look at the stubborn mare Jaskier asked, “Could I get you to lay down? Pretty please?” 

Roach gave him a look that seemed to communicate how beneath her it was to be expected to lower herself to the ground. She looked at him reproachfully as she complied. “Thank you,” Jaskier said reverently, reaching out to run his fingers down her velvety nose. “Ok, now you” he sighed, looking over to Geralt’s dense form with his hands on his hips. “I know that this is going to be uncomfortable my surly friend, but it is the only thing I can think of and we are on a bit of a time crunch. So let me just get this rope around your middle and. . .yup, that’s a good witcher just get your leg over that piece. Oh, shit, yeah be careful of your wound. There we go. Now I’ll get in front of you.” 

Looping the rope around his waist and then using what was left to tie Geralt’s wrists around his torso, Jaskier hoped to keep the bulky man from falling off the saddle or worse. . . knocking them both clean off. 

“Okay off we go,” Jaskier spurred Roach into the forest and back onto the road, thankful that the mare was listening to him. 

Jaskier didn’t often get to ride a horse. This was firstly because he did not own a horse, and secondly because his companion was less than willing to let him ride his when Jaskier asked. That was not to say that he had never ridden, but riding with two people tied together was like nothing he had ever had to deal with, as Jaskier quickly found out. Spurring Roach into a full gallop caused the witcher to bounce in the saddle and his leg to move so much that Jaskier was sure it must have started to bleed again, not that he stopped to look at it. 

Jaskier alternated between pushing the poor girl to move as fast as she could and letting her slow down to a manageable pace, whispering praise and promises of sugar cubes and brushings down into her ears the whole time. If he had planned this better he would have only tied Geralt to the saddle so that he could have walked beside her and given her a break from the extra weight. He wasn’t even sure how he was going to get them both down safely when they _did_ finally arrive. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt grunted right as they passed the city gates. 

“Geralt! Oh, thank the gods above!” Jaskier exclaimed, resisting the urge to turn and check on him in favor of safely navigating the streets of Oxenfurt. “Are you ok? Are you in pain?” he called over his shoulder, “We will be at my apartment soon and I can have someone come look at you.”

“Shhh,” Geralt whispered, lips pressed against the side of Jaskier’s neck — that was a feeling he wouldn’t be remembering later. . . in private. “Songbird poisoned. . . filter out. . .take a day or two.” 

“What? Geralt, focus, please. I don’t know how to help you.” Jaskier begged, shaking the arms still tied around his waist, but it seemed Geralt had slipped back into unconsciousness. Jaskier sighed. He knew that Geralt was poisoned now. . . that had to be good, right? He could tell the healer and they would know what to do. 

“Wait, did Geralt just call me songbird?” Jaskier shook his head. Obviously, the poison was messing with Geralt’s mind. He just needed to get them somewhere safe and warm so Geralt could heal. Coming up on the professor’s stables, Jaskier could see one of the stable hands hauling hay inside, and an idea formed in his mind. 

“Hey, hey boy,” Jaskier channeled as much noble arrogance as he could, pulling Roach to a stop in front of the stable doors. “I will throw you a couple of coins if you lend me a hand. I’m going to lead my horse to my home and you will help me get this man down and into the house. I’ll have you lead the horseback here and fetch me a healer after. Understood?” The young stable hand nodded eagerly. Jaskier turned the mare towards the row of apartments that lined the road, the boy following behind. 

It took less than a minute to get Roach to the door of his little apartment. Jaskier had never been so happy to see the plain wooden door. “Okay, I’m going to untie the rope from around the two of us and I need you to put your hand on him to make sure he doesn’t fall off,” Jaskier said to the boy, who again nodded, raising his hands and placing them on the witcher’s sides as Jaskier hopped down from the saddle.

“Ok good, now let’s get him inside,” Jaskier said as they pulled the heavy man down off the horse, wrapping their arms around his shoulders, managing to get Geralt inside, and laid down on the bed. 

Geralt let out a pained grunt as he was placed on the bed. “You’re okay now Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. He started to run his fingers gently through the witcher’s hair hoping to soothe him. 

“Boy!” Jaskier snapped; he didn’t like the way he was staring at Geralt. “Go take the horse back to the stables and fetch me a healer if you want that coin.” Thankfully the reminder of the promised coin was enough to snap the young man from his stupor and get him rushing out the door, though that probably wouldn’t be enough to stop the rumors about the white wolf being in town and injured. 

“So this is my humble abode,” Jaskier rambled as he moved away from stroking the witcher’s soft hair. Thankfully one of the staff had come by recently to stock the wood and kindling, making it easy for Jaskier to get a fire going. “I know it’s not much, but I don’t end up spending much time here. Usually, I’m too busy with classes and performances to do more than sleep.” 

Jaskier would have to run out to get water and food soon, but for now he just wanted to sit in front of the fire in his comfortable chair with Geralt safe and asleep in his bed. Oh, how he wished the circumstances were different. How nice it would be to have Geralt to himself for a little while to shower him in comfort and kindness for a season. He would prove to the grumpy witcher that he _did_ deserve nice things, and it was okay for people to care about him. . . but Jaskier knew it was all wishful thinking. 

“Mmh.” came a noise from the bed, startling Jaskier out of the daze he had unwittingly fallen into. Looking over to the bed Jaskier noticed Geralt had buried his head in the pillow. “Juniper.”

“What’s wrong Geralt?” Jaskier asked as he came over to sit next to the witcher. 

“Is my favorite, smells good. Jaskier wears juniper,” mumbled the witcher, rubbing his face into the pillow like some kind of big cat, peeking one hazy gold eye up at the blushing bard. “He always smells so good. Don't want to smell anything else. . . makes me feel nice.”

Jaskier was a man of many words. Often he had been told he was a man of _too_ many words, but in that moment they had all vanished and he was struck silent. Thankfully he was saved from having to respond by a knock on the door. 

He opened the door to reveal a shorter woman with gray hair tied back with a scarf and dressed in a simple wool dress. “Hello, you called for me?” the woman asked; Jaskier realized this must be the healer he sent the stable hand to fetch. 

“Right, yes, of course. I’m sorry please come in” Jaskier moved out of the doorway, waving his hand to welcome the poor woman in from the cold. 

“Thank you, dear. I’m Lena, and I think these might be yours,” Lena responded, pointing to a stack of bags placed next to the door. From where he stood Jaskier could see that it included two swords and a set of familiar armor. “Bless that boy,” Jaskier thought. 

“Oskar did not warn me that my patient was a witcher.” Jaskier heard the older woman call as he shoved the bags, swords, and armor into a corner to deal with later. Taking a deep breath he turned to look at the woman to find her wiping Geralt’s leg with some kind of cream, a gentle smile on her face. “They are quite rare, witchers. Nothing I can’t handle though.” she turned to Jaskier, “Now, why don’t you run and get some water? I assure you no harm will come to your friend while he is in my care.” 

“Right, yes I can do that.” Jaskier grabbed the bucket from next to the hearth and raced out the door. Getting the water was a quick task, there was a pump available in the middle of the lane of houses, and before he knew it he was back and placing the bucket down close to the fire to warm it. 

“That’s good,” smiled Lena, “I’ve already wrapped his leg and laid out some medicine for him” She pointed to a bottle, a small jar, and a stack of bandages on the table next to the bed. “Just change his bandages with the salve and if he gets a fever give him what’s in the bottle. He’s a strong one, and Witchers can survive a lot. He will be just fine in a couple of days.” 

“Thank you,” Jaskier sighed. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of him; he had been so worried about Geralt. He remembered Geralt’s words when they had entered the town but to hear it from an actual healer was all the reassurance he needed. 

“Don’t forget to take care of yourself too,” Lena reprimanded while packing up her supplies. “You're no good to him if you wear yourself out.” 

“I will, I promise,” Jaskier said at the look he received from the healer. “Thank you for coming to see my friend, have a lovely evening.” Jaskier grabbed Lena’s hand as she headed out the door pressing a couple of coins and a kiss into it. 

Jaskier closed the door behind the woman and leaned back against the wood looking around the space. There was still a bottle of wine that he had bought last year sitting unopened on the writing desk. “It probably wouldn’t be appropriate to open that with Geralt laid up in bed” Jaskier thought. “When he’s better, I’ll drink to his health.” He made his way over to the bags he had thrown in the corner and pulled out the soft linen pants Geralt usually slept in when they would stay at an inn along with a change of clothes for himself. 

“In the morning I promise I will go out and get the two of us a bountiful feast,” Jaskier told the sleeping witcher. “But for now I think we could both use a wipe down and some sleep.” 

The bucket next to the hearth had warmed up to the perfect temperature to rinse off all the muck and filth they had accumulated over the last day. Of course, it would never compare to a soak in an actual bath with proper oils and salts, or taking the time to let the heat and scents work all the tension from his muscles. That was just something else he could look forward to, and maybe he could convince Geralt to stick around for a day or two after he healed fully and show him the bathhouses and where the winter festival would be. Though it wouldn’t be decorated yet, Jaskier trusted his storytelling skills to be able to describe it in perfect detail so that Geralt would feel like he was there. 

Grabbing a bowl and a couple more rags Jaskier made his way over to the bed. “You know I’m getting rather good at getting you out of these ridiculously tight pants'' Jaskier joked, tossing the witcher’s pants and shirt towards where he had left his own ruined clothing in front of the fireplace. Hopefully the laundresses would be able to return his clothing to the brilliant shade of blue they had been, instead of the brackish grey they had become. 

Jaskier ran the warm cloth gently over Geralt’s chest, wiping away dirt and revealing the tapestry of scars that lay beneath. He knew the story of so many of them and had helped wrap and clean some of them, but it never failed to amaze him every time he was granted the sight. To be one of the people to touch the history Geralt wore on his skin, a history of pain but also one that spoke of survival and triumph over the monsters of the world, it was a sight that even Jaskier, renowned bard and wordsmith, struggled to give justice. If only he could get the man himself to see it the way he did. 

“Oh no, I fear I have gone sullen,” Jaskier said with a chuckle. “Well fear not my dear wolf, a night of rest and a proper meal will surely help me achieve my normal cheer and verbose status.” Shimmying the silver haired man into his soft pants, Jaskier crawled into the bed beside him and pulled the covers over them both. 

“Now don’t complain, we have shared plenty of times before, and as comfortable as my chair may be I still refuse to sleep a full night in it.” Jaskier looked at Geralt’s peacefully sleeping face and had to resist the urge to run his fingers down the witcher’s sharp cheeks. “Good night Geralt. Sleep well. I’ll be here if you need me.”

\------------------

“For the love of Lilit, who could possibly be knocking at my door?” Jaskier asked the room as he popped his head up from the bed, rising from the comfort of his blankets and Geralt’s arm that had wrapped around him in the night. The stranger on the other side of the door just knocked again, oblivious to Jaskier’s anger at being pulled from the warm, strong comfort of his Witcher’s arms. 

“If you're here for the Witcher then I’m going to have some strong words about where you can shove your contract” Jaskier yanked the door open. “Oh!. . .um, sorry. How can I help you, dear?” Jaskier asked the young girl he found on the other side of the door, the anger that had settled in his gut swiftly turning to confusion and a little guilt. 

“Miss Lena told momma you’d be needin’ food,” the girl answered, holding out a basket for Jaskier to take. “Momma packed ya a whole day's worth a food in there an she says come by the Copper Pot when ya friend’s all better to settle.” 

“Oh,” Jaskier responded, floored by the kindness of the healer who he had only met yesterday. “I will do that, sweetheart, and you tell your mother and Miss Lena that I thank them from the depths of my heart for the unforgettable kindness they have blessed us with.” 

“Do I has to say it like that?” the girl asked with a confused look.

“No, you don’t,” Jaskier chuckled. “Just tell them thank you.”

“Okay.” The girl responded with a nod before running off down the lane, most likely to return to the aforementioned Copper Pot. 

Jaskier closed the door, still chuckling at the antics of the strange girl, and placed the basket down next to the bed. He didn’t have a table in the single room that composed the apartment and refused to eat at his writing desk. “Looks like we get to eat in bed this fine morning Geralt.” Jaskier told the Witcher. 

It was strange to see him sleeping. It was so rare a sight Jaskier had joked about whether Witchers even needed sleep in the early days of their travels. So to be able to look at Geralt’s peaceful visage now. . . the way the pre-dawn light coming in through the hazy windows made Geralt’s hair shine, his soft lips parted in sleep, his face truly relaxed in a way it never was in his waking hours. . . Jaskier wished he was better at drawing so that he might be able to capture the moment and hold it close to himself forever.

‘Stop it. . . it's rude to stare.’ Jaskier thought, reaching down into the basket and pulling out a loaf of fresh bread and a block of cheese. He placed his collection on the table beside the bed and reached over to gently poke the Witcher in the chest. “Wake up Geralt, I have foooood” Jaskier sang. 

“Hmm”

“Exactly dear witcher,” Jaskier told the gold eye peeking at him from its spot buried in his pillow. “Now, do you need help sitting up? No? Alright then.” Jaskier took the knife he kept on the side table and started slicing the cheese and bread as the Witcher rolled over and slowly pushed himself up completely to lean against the wooden headboard. Which Jaskier was thankful for — his muscles were still sore from having to lug the boulder of a man around yesterday. 

Getting into the bed himself, Jaskier tried not to think about how domestic this was. Enjoying fresh bread in bed on a cold morning, keeping each other warm, and enjoying the crackle of the fire. . . it was another of Jaskier’s fantasies that he wished had come true under different circumstances. 

He was startled from his melancholy by a sudden weight falling on his shoulder. Looking down, Jaskier saw a head of white hair. Geralt had his head resting on his shoulder, cuddled up with him. “Deep breath. . . he’s just still tired and. . .and you are here to help him!” Jaskier thought frantically as he handed Geralt a slice of bread and cheese. 

“Thank you, song bird.” Geralt mumbled. There was that nickname again, the same as yesterday. Jaskier could feel the witcher chewing as he wandered into his own thoughts. It shouldn’t have been as cute as it was. 

“Why do you call me that?” Jaskier asked, picking at his bread. When he didn’t get a response he turned to see familiar golden eyes, their normally slitted pupils blown wide staring back at him. 

“So vibrant and colorful. Always full of music and flapping about” Geralt mumbled as he turned and pressed his nose into Jaskier’s neck. 

“You don’t even like my music,” Jaskier laughed nervously, trying to ignore the feeling of Geralt’s nose running up the sensitive skin of his neck. “He’s drunk on poison” he kept repeating in his mind. 

“It soothes me when we are at camp. I know you are safe. I don’t like Toss a Coin,” Geralt continued, the gentle puffs of air against his neck sending shivers down Jaskier’s spine.

“W-what?” Jaskier stuttered as he grabbed handfuls of the blankets, trying to subtly take a couple of calming breaths. 

“It's too catchy, always gets stuck in my head. But listening to you play in front of the fire is my favorite place to be.” Geralt answered, finally turning his head and allowing Jaskier to take his first full breath in several minutes. The witcher let loose a jaw cracking yawn, gold eyes glazing over and lids becoming sluggish. Geralt blinked adorably up at Jaskier and his heart stuttered with the affection he felt for this man. This simple slurred confession warmed Jaskier more than any fire would ever be able to. Even if Geralt never said he liked his singing again having this one moment to hold on to would be enough. 

“Sleep now. . . soon not poisoned. . . sing for me?” 

“Of course, my wolf” Jaskier responded softly, as he grabbed all the food off the bed and placed it back on the table. “All you ever have to do is ask.” As Jaskier watched the sun slowly crawl into view through his window, he softly sang lullabies to the sleeping wolf curled around him, running his fingers through silky starlit strands. 

Jaskier spent all morning singing and gently swaying through his repertoire of songs, skipping Toss a Coin of course. Jaskier knew that there was a multitude of other things he had to get done: a visit to the Dean, actually starting his lesson plans, seeing if any of his friends had arrived yet . . . there was so much to do. But he couldn’t find it in himself to move. Even with his legs aching from being crushed under Geralt’s chest, and the fire burning down, this was where he wanted to be. Always. 

Or at least till the first shiver shook through his body as the fire died down to coals and Jaskier realized, much to his own chagrin, that he would have to roll the Witcher off of his poor legs. Which was no easy feat, with the Witcher clinging to Jaskier’s legs like a beloved comfort toy. But after a fair amount of cursing, wiggling, and a tiny bit of begging that Jaskier would never admit to, he was free of his muscular prison and walking wobbly kneed over to the fireplace to throw another log on. 

“Let's see what else that lovely woman packed for us. As nice as bread and cheese is, a proper meal would help you heal right up, I’m sure of it” Jaskier said as he poked at the fire, enjoying the gentle crackle and pop of the logs as they caught. 

Jaskier snagged the basket and pulled it over to his chair. “Oh bless that woman!” Towards the bottom of the basket, he found some chopped vegetables and dried meat — all the ingredients needed for a stew that even Jaskier could manage to cook with his one available pot. “This is just what we need, Geralt. Warm and hearty, and you didn’t even have to catch the meat for it!” 

Jaskier threw all the ingredients, water, and some of the spices he had taken to carrying — if he had had to eat an unseasoned rabbit one more time he would scream — into the pot and hung it over the fireplace. 

“I guess now is as good a time as any to change your bandage and apply more salve” Jaskier said. Maybe listening to his incessant chatter would comfort Geralt or be enough to wake him, even if only to tell him to shut up. 

Making his way back over to the bed Jaskier couldn’t help but stare at Geralt sprawled peacefully across the worn cotton sheets. In the short time it had taken Jaskier to stoke the fire and start their meal the witcher had stretched to cover almost the entirety of the bed, hair covering the pillow, arms stretched out, and legs tangled in the sheets — he was the picture of comfort. Chuckling to himself Jaskier sat down on the edge of the bed and gently untangled the blanket from the witcher’s leg and lifted the scarred appendage to sit across his lap, murmuring nonsensical comfort at Geralt’s grunts at the unexpected movement. He unwound the wraps from around the muscular thigh, forcing himself not to linger on the way the muscles shifted and flexed under his hands. “Geralt, this looks much better. It’s no longer such a violent red. Witcher healing is amazing! The wound is already starting to pull closed; it looks a week old instead of a couple days” Jaskier rambled as he rewrapped the bite, applying the sweet smelling salve and placing the leg back on the bed. 

“I guess I could work on the song of the heroic rescue of the bathing bard while I wait for the food” Jaskier thought as he turned to his desk. “Maybe I should make it a bathing maiden.” Sitting down and grabbing a quill from the drawer, he started humming tunes as he worked on his words, letting the sound of the fire crackling and the knowledge that his witcher was safe comfort him as he worked. 

“Hrrrr.” 

“Oh! Are you alright Geralt?” Jaskier asked, the noise having startled him from a creative fugue, his stomach grumbling to remind him it had been a couple hours. “The stew should be done” he thought.

“Where am I?” Geralt grunted, voice rough from sleep. He propped himself up against the headboard, golden gaze moving lazily around the room. 

“Oxenfurt, Geralt, you know that.” Jaskier quickly dished out a helping of the hearty stew, handing it to Geralt and making sure he had it. . . cleaning stew out of his bed was not something he wanted to have to worry about. “We’ve been here for about a day.” 

Grey eyebrows furrowed as Geralt seemed to think about what he had been told. “I was going to take Jaskier to Oxenfurt. Make sure he got there safe. Was going to tell him something important.” Geralt told his stew, staring quizzically down into the bowl. 

Jaskier wanted to ask Geralt about that; he wanted to know what Geralt had been keeping from him. Would it be wrong to make him talk about it? He didn’t know who he was talking to. . . but he did say he was going to tell Jaskier when they arrived at the city. Was it worth it? What if it was something bad? Geralt might want to tell him he didn’t want to meet up in spring or worse. . . not travel together anymore. Jaskier could feel himself starting to spiral, his mind getting lost in a maze of possibilities each worse than the last, his breath quickening to match the whirling of his mind.

“I was going to tell him how much I enjoy his singing. How I can’t imagine traveling without him.” Geralt continued, oblivious to the panicking bard beside him. “I want to tell him I’m in love with him.” 

— Jaskier couldn't breathe, the air frozen in his lungs as he was abruptly knocked out of his spiraling thoughts. Did he really hear that? Did Geralt really confess to him!? He didn’t know what to do; this felt wrong to hear when Geralt wasn’t aware of what he was saying. 

“Why wait until winter to tell him?” he heard himself ask. 

“That way when he rejected me he wouldn’t have to see me again.” Geralt answered, stirring his spoon around his cooling stew. He seemed so sure of his answer as if that was the only possible outcome to his confession. 

“Oh, Geralt!” Jaskier gasped, tears clinging to his lashes. He couldn’t let Geralt believe that he would be rejected, that his feelings weren’t returned. Jaskier couldn’t live with himself if he let Geralt think he was unwanted. 

“I love you too, silly wolf.” Jaskier said, reaching out to run his fingers through Geralt’s silver locks that were starting to need a wash. “My love for you is endless. I can’t imagine traveling the long and arduous roads of the continent without you.” The gold eyes that Jaskier longed to get lost in turned to stare at him, and a gentle smile broke out across Geralt’s pale face. 

“Eat, please.” Jaskier said as he slowly moved away from the bed. A couple of the tears he had been desperately holding back were getting the better of him and breaking loose to run freely down his cheek. He dashed them away with his sleeve and dished himself a serving of the stew, grabbing the bottle of wine off his desk as he made his way back to the still smiling Witcher on his bed. 

He would just have to hope Geralt remembered his confession; Jaskier didn't know what he would do if Geralt never brought this up again. 

Dinner was eaten in silence, Jaskier unsure what to say now that both of their secrets were out in the open and Geralt just seemed to want to enjoy his stew. ‘Should we talk about it?’ Jaskier wondered. He wanted to. He wanted to ask Geralt how long he had loved him, but he also wanted Geralt to be aware of the conversation. Instead, Jaskier popped open his bottle of wine and took a deep swig from it, hoping the rich wine would help banish the anxieties brewing in his mind. 

“More?” 

“Of course, whatever you need” Jaskier answered, rushing to fulfill the quiet request. More than happy for the distraction, ladling another helping of the stew into the simple clay bowl provided.

He needed to stop— his panicking wasn’t helping anyone. This was good, wasn’t it? To know that Geralt of Rivia, the white wolf himself loved him back? He should be cheering and celebrating. Songs should be pouring through his head to proclaim to the world that startling fact. But instead all Jaskier could think about was if it would all be brushed aside when the Witcher was healed. Would Geralt thank him for helping him only to ride off to his secret witcher hideout? He had said he wanted to tell Jaskier when they got to the city, but who knew if he actually would have. 

“Jaskier” Geralt called, shaking the bard from his thoughts and causing him to realize he was still holding the refilled bowl and had been staring into the fire for an indeterminate amount of time. 

“Forgive me, dear heart,” Jaskier said, plastering on a smile and settling back on the bed, handing off the bowl to the hungry witcher. “Do you want me to sing to you again?”

“No,” Geralt said between spoonfuls. “Tell me a story.”

“A story? Oh my, alright, give me a second to think about what kind of story I want to tell,” Jaskier pondered, trying to clear his mind of everything outside of taking care of his witcher. 

Jaskier spun a story of epic proportions, changing his voice to portray the different characters. Geralt managed to down two more bowls of stew, and Jaskier half the bottle, as the story went through its many acts. Eventually, Geralt started listing to one side adorably. Keeping the flow of the story going, Jaskier moved the witcher to rest with his head on Jaskier’s chest, right over his heart with one arm wrapped around his broad shoulders. 

As the story came to a close, the prince rescued and the hero victorious, Jaskier felt the witcher doze off against him and he knew that he would not be able to go back to pretending that Geralt was just his friend and travel companion. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them to pretend, anymore. If the Witcher rode off to spend his winter hiding Jaskier would just have to chase him down in the spring and force him to listen to reason. And he would do it too. He would chase Geralt across the whole of the continent if he had to, and fight anyone that got in his way. It was comforting to have a plan, even one as silly as this one. 

\-----------

Jaskier floated reluctantly to wakefulness unsure of when he had dozed off. He was warm and gentle fingers were running through his hair. “Wait. . .” He lethargically thought. 

Jaskier’s eyes flew open to find himself staring up into clear, gold-gilded eyes with slitted pupils. “Geralt!” Jaskier exclaimed, rising from his spot across Geralt’s lap. When did he end up there? He wrapped his arms around Geralt in a fiercely tight hug. “Thank Melitele, I’m so happy! How long have you been awake? Are you in pain? Do you need anything?”

“Hmm” Geralt said, wrapping his arms around him to return the hug. “I don’t think I’ll be making it up the mountain this year.”

“What?” Jaskier asked, pulling reluctantly out of the comfort of Geralt’s warm, muscular embrace. 

“It started to snow” Geralt nodded to the window. When Jaskier turned to look he could see that “started to snow” might have been an understatement. The view outside was almost entirely whited out. 

“Oh. Oh no, Geralt. Well, we can ask the Dean later and he would probably let you use one of the other apartments for the winter.” As much as he didn’t want Geralt to leave he also didn’t want to trap him. “Well, at least you will be able to experience an Oxenfurt winter festival first hand now instead of having to wait for me to recount it for you come spring.”

Jaskier turned from the window to look at the witcher, hoping to gauge his reaction, and found a small smile gracing his lips. Lips that Jaskier ached to kiss. 

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier decided to bring up something Geralt had mentioned while poisoned. “So who’s Lambert and what's so special about his cat?” Not what he wanted to bring up, but he didn’t want to spook the witcher either. 

“Is that really what you want to talk about?” Geralt asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well. . . um,” Jaskier responded, a deep blush blooming on his cheeks. “Does that mean Geralt remembers?” Jaskier wondered, biting at his lip.

“Endless love?” Geralt asked, reaching out and yanking Jaskier across his lap — a position Jaskier had dreamed about being in many, many times. “Are you sure?” 

Jaskier could see this moment for what it was. Geralt was offering him a chance to back out, a final offer to take back what he said. An offer Jaskier would always refuse. “Absolutely.” 

“Hmm” was all the response he got before he felt the hand on the back of his neck pull him down to kiss the lips he had craved for years. The kiss was sweeter than he would have expected, soft and gentle, tongues exploring more than demanding, learning what made the other whimper or moan. It was a kiss Jaskier would have happily kept going forever if it wasn’t for the damned need for air, not that it stopped Geralt, who continued his kissing down Jaskier’s neck. 

“You know, when I write the song for this I think I will call it ‘The Love Bite’,” Jaskier said, laughing as he felt sharp canines nip at his shoulder in retaliation. “It will surely win the festival for me.” 

Geralt twisted the two of them till they were lying side by side in bed, surprising Jaskier for a moment before he relaxed into the comfort of being held by his love. 

“Now don’t try to distract me, my love,” Jaskier said, letting his head rest against Geralt’s chest, listening to the strong steady beat of his heart. “You will be coming with me.”

“You're lucky I love you.” Geralt said, leaning down to plant a soft kiss in Jaskier’s brown locks. 

“Indeed I am.”

\-----------------

The square was full with people dressed in festive and impractical clothing all packed together, haggling at the vendor's stalls and chatting in groups. The smell of cooked meat and wine was so thick in the air it was like wearing a heavy cloak. Geralt hated all of it: the people, the smells, the noise; it was a cacophony of sensations beating against his skull. He wanted to turn around and leave. . . but then the hand holding his would squeeze in excitement, the smaller body leaning against him to rave about the pies at this stall, or coo at arrangements of holly, mistletoe, and evergreen hanging off the buildings. Jaskier had been looking forward to the midwinter festival since before they had even gotten to the town, and he had told Geralt several times how happy he was to have the witcher here to celebrate with him, smiling lovingly at him as he said it. Having his voice there to wash over him and his scent to chase away the fog of cooked food and cheap booze made it worth getting dragged through the square with the excitable bard bouncing around him. 

Geralt watched as Jaskier flitted off towards a stand selling quills and made a mental note to look for a monster with feathers in the spring. It would be a nice surprise gift for his bard — something he could flaunt and show off whenever they found themselves in a town. . . something Geralt could get to make Jaskier happy. 

“Honestly! The price he was asking for a raven quill!” Jaskier huffed, appearing at Geralt’s side and grabbing his hand. “Though with that song I wrote about the brave warrior recusing the helpless bathing maiden and her tending to him, I should definitely be walking away with the prize. So we will be set for the start of the season.”

“Of course you will win my lovely maiden” Geralt gave Jaskier a sharp-toothed smile and enjoyed the slight darkening of his cheeks it caused. 

He had heard the song several times already as Jaskier worked on it, even offering his opinion where he could. Not that it did much beyond winning him grateful kisses or a teasing chuckle about not understanding flow or rhyme schemes. All bard things he had never had to worry about before, but that Jaskier seemed more than happy to explain as they lay tangled together in their bed. Geralt still didn’t understand the need to exaggerate every detail much to Jaskier’s amusement “creative license, Geralt”. It didn’t matter — the song was good and they both knew the true story, one that would be theirs alone to enjoy and remember. 

“Geralt are you listening?” 

Admitting he had not been listening was never a wise choice, so he gave a noncommittal “hmm” and kept moving down the road. 

“Ugh! Geralt, I was just telling you I need to start making my way to the stage!” Jaskier said, dropping Geralt's hand and moving in front of him, hands on his hips. “You should go find a place to brood now before they all get taken, I’m sure there will be a wonderful corner you can watch me from.” Geralt rolled his eyes at the comment, but he had agreed to watch Jaskier sing and hear the song. Geralt was refusing to use the ridiculous name Jaskier had come up with, performed in front of a crowd for the first time. 

“Go on songbird. I’ll be there.” Geralt responded, leaning down to plant a sweet kiss on Jaskier’s forehead, lingering for a couple of seconds to breathe in juniper and ink and happiness before letting Jaskier dash off in the direction of the stage. 

Geralt headed to an area that he knew would give him a good view of the stage but would be out of the way. Checking it for mistletoe before he settled in, he watched the first bard come up to sing. He had no interest in listening to any bard but his, so he let his mind drift as the bard started his song. 

The winter had been eventful and boring in equal turns. Geralt was used to spending his days training with his brothers and repairing the crumbling walls of Kaer Morhen, and his nights drinking and spinning yarn for Eskel to knit or playing Gwent with Lambert. Instead, he had spent his winter so far relaxing in a warm bed with his song bird and becoming acquainted with all the ways he could make him sing Geralt’s name to the sky, all the touches that rendered him speechless, and whispering his love in Jaskier’s ear just to hear it shouted back. He was grateful that the rooms on either side of Jaskier were not in use this winter, though he had caught the botany professor across the lane giving him strange looks in the morning and blushing scarlet from her blonde locks down to her teaching robes.

Geralt had spent the first week of Jaskier’s classes missing the easy flow of morning training, the heft of a sword in his hand as he went over the movements and steps he had been practicing for almost a hundred years. Thankfully, finding a place to practice had been easy enough — the courtyard outside Jaskier’s classroom was big enough for him to fully arc his sword without fear of clipping anything, and was always empty when Geralt walked Jaskier to class. Being close to his song bird was just an added perk of the area he had found. Falling into the muscle memory of forms every morning relaxed him. It was apparently much less relaxing for the people of Oxenfurt to see a witcher openly swinging a sword on campus. Jaskier had had to spend a week reassuring the Dean that Geralt just needed a place to practice and anyone could come watch if they were so inclined, promising no harm would come to anyone that did. That offer was of course met with bafflement and awkward chuckles in the beginning, but now Geralt had a gaggle of students watching him every day chatting and giggling amongst themselves — some even brought sketchbooks along. He dreaded to think that there might be art of him floating around Oxenfurt.

Geralt glanced up at the stage to see a set of what appeared to be siblings performing. They worked well together, the boy strumming at some kind of large lute-like instrument and the girl singing. Seeing them made Geralt wonder what his brothers were up to. They won’t worry about him being dead, not with all the songs circulating about him and his exploits. It was something Eskel and Lambert had taken great pleasure teasing him about in winters past, even Coen had gotten a few good-natured ribs in the one winter he had joined them. They had all expressed an interest in getting to meet the human that would willingly walk side by side with a witcher. Next winter he would finally get to show them how much of a trouble-maker his vibrant, charismatic bard was. Geralt was sure he would be fast friends with the others. Eskel would most likely find the bard amusing and enjoy the poetry he was always spouting, and Lambert would be happy to have someone with as quick a wit and sharp a tongue as he had. Even Vesemir wouldn’t be immune to Jaskier once the bard found out how many stories the old witcher held. 

Geralt wondered for a minute if Lambert brought the cat this winter. He was never very good at keeping secrets and his new fighting techniques were more than enough to tell the other three where, or rather with _whom,_ he had been spending his time. Maybe he would have to go looking for the caravan and see about inviting the cat for his little brother. Fair was fair for all the times Lambert had teased him about not inviting his bird. 

He was pulled from his planning by a smooth, melodious voice. Jaskier moved across the stage as he sang, looking out into the crowd till his bright, summer-sky-blue eyes met the gold cat-like eyes they were searching for. Geralt gave a small smile. The one he got in return could have lit the whole square in its vibrance. Watching Jaskier sing had always been a secret passion of his. The way he worked the crowd, pulling at heartstrings and coin purses with every line, the passion he poured into his work, and the way he crafted every song to perfectly invoke an emotional response from his crowd stirred him deeply 

The crowd ate up every verse, enraptured by the tale of a maiden bathing in a spring and being rescued by a brave warrior, the love and passion of the characters drawing them into the song. As he went more than a few women started making eyes at the bard, though Geralt wasn’t worried. He knew Jaskier would be returning to him at the end. 

The song drew to a close and Geralt watched as Jaskier hopped right off the stage dashing over to him. He slammed into Geralt wrapping his arms around him.

“So, what did you think?” Jaskier asked, burrowing his head into Geralt’s chest. 

“I told you it was a good song, Jaskier” Geralt gruffed good-naturedly. 

“I know. I just like hearing you say you enjoy my singing” Jaskier said, leaning up so his lips hovered right over Geralt’s. “I love you.”

Geralt leaned down and captured Jaskier’s lips, wrapping his arms around the bard, pulling him even closer. “I love you too.” Geralt knew he would never tire of getting to say that. He would do whatever it took to keep the bard next to him for as long as he could and probably longer. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the story please feel free to leave a kudo or comment, it was a lot of fun for me to write.  
> Until next time everyone. Live well Be safe.  
> And here is the promised link to 13Bella's amazing art.  
> https://13bella.tumblr.com/post/641788681630482432/this-was-for-a-event-but-had-to-go-rouge-the


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